


Draw you in, just to see

by Kiyara_Iris



Series: Spell Out This Feeling [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, Explicit Language, First Time, Homophobic Language, M/M, Milkovitch style angst, POV Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 20:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyara_Iris/pseuds/Kiyara_Iris
Summary: He wanted to send a message, rile him up just a bit more. Maybe then he’d throw a fist and Mickey would have the excuse to get real close, grapple at boyish muscles and pale skin. Mark up his face, leave blood and scars that spelled out his name.Make him see Mickey, not able to fucking forget him.





	Draw you in, just to see

**Author's Note:**

> Not fully edited, but it felt finished, so enjoy ^_^

“Mickey, you guys gotta leave Ian alone.” Mickey choked on the hit he was taking, carefully putting the bong down as he glared at Mandy through wet eyes.

“What the fuck, seriously? That redheaded faggot hurts you an’ you want me to-”

“He didn’t hurt me Mick! It was a misunderstanding ok?” There were reasons Mickey was the one person his sister went to for help, the only male in their family she trusted. Because, despite the fucked-up shit in their lives, Mickey had always cared for her. Watched her moods, got their father’s attention when he got high and fucking mean.

The way Mandy’s eyebrows were drawing together meant she was hiding shit.

He hopped over the back of the coach, following her down the hallway. “No, no fucking way! No way do you come home crying and that redheaded douche gets away with it!” Mandy stopped in front of her door, crossing her arms and suddenly all of Mickey’s alarm bells were ringing.

“Did he fuckin’ threaten you Mands?” Now she looked pissed.

“Jesus, no shithead! We talked and he told me…like, apologized and things are cool or whatever.” Mickey took a step closer and Mandy visibly flinched. Yeah, she was hiding shit.

“So what? Suddenly he don’t wanna fuck you anymore? He a fag or somethin’?” He hadn’t meant anything by it, his mind always finding its way to fag bashing (something he worried was as big a tell as a flashing neon sign reading ‘homo’ and pointing to him). What he doesn’t expect is Mandy’s eyes to get all big and fearful, averting from his immediately. His stomach takes an aching tumble.

“Oh shit-”

“Mick, don’t you fuckin’ _dare_.” Mandy was suddenly all piss and fury and it was Mickey that took a step back. He knew she kept at least three knives on her at all times and was quicker than anything when she fought. “You fuck with Ian, or say anything to Terry and the boys and I’ll fucking find you when you’re sleeping.” Mickey took a shaky inhale, retreating another few steps back up the hall. How was that threat more terrifying than if she’d gone into details?

“Jesus Mandy, why would I give a fuck who Gallagher sticks it in?” God, did he have to put it that way? Now he was thinking of Gallagher plugging away at some nameless, faceless twink.

Mickey’s gut wrenched painfully, his hand reaching automatically for his left wrist. “Fag bashin’ ain’t my idea of fun, usually just pansies that don’t even throw a decent punch.” Fuck, that was nowhere near the truth, but Mandy had no poker face. If Terry ever went after him for being gay, he wanted her to at least have plausible deniability.

Still, she looked shocked.

Right, it was a two-way street between them. She could see him with the same honesty he saw her. It was stupid how he swelled with happiness that she actually looked proud of him for something.

“Huh, I never woulda thought it Mick. Well good, cause we’re dating now, so no gettin’ him killed.” Mickey reeled even more from that news. It wasn’t that Mickey didn’t understand the need to fuck girls to get violent homophobes off your back, but the fact Gallagher would do that to his sister…

“What the fuck Mandy? You’re just gonna let him fuck you?” She scoffed, shaking her head.

“No, he didn’t even pop a boner when he had a handful of boob-”

“Too much info!” Mickey yelled, shielding his eyes with his arm as if that could erase the picture. Mandy just laughed.

“I told him I’d be his cover. Just cause you’re not a total assface doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty.” Yeah, and Mickey knew that only too well.

“Good. Just don’t let him get fresh with you or anythin’.”

*******************************

Mickey lit another cigarette, knowing he could be out here a lot longer than the half hour he’d already been here. Bitch didn’t have any kind of schedule he could see. He chewed absently at his nails, flicking ash onto the filthy street, jumping a little in place as his heartrate picked up. That’s why he kept coming back, that adrenalin that pumped sweet in the veins -sweeter than any candy bar.

Mickey had always cased another place for quick snack-grabs, owner was old and going senile. After the conversation with Mandy though he’d come back to the Kash and Grab alone, thrilled when Gallagher immediately took off.

He didn’t bother chasing him, just flipped off the towelhead behind the cash register. Guy wasn’t even glaring, just ducking his head and trying to ignore Mickey. So he took some shit, just a few bags of chips and soda that first time. Kash was a fuckin’ pussy, made stealing too easy, so Mickey kept doing it.

Eventually Gallagher stopped running, never spoke to him, but god could the kid fucking glare. Green eyes flashing from whatever corner he was stocking while Mickey loaded up. Liked how his skin tightened in something like pleasure with the attention.

Mickey wasn’t fucking stupid, he knew what he wanted from the redhead. He wanted to bend over, feel himself split open under pale hips moving fast and rough. He knew it wasn’t gonna happen, not with the history between them and their families, but Mickey didn’t think about that when he was stroking his cock or fingering himself in the dark.

He thought about faggy shit like licking all those fucking freckles, even the one’s right across Gallagher’s nose, he thought about lanky arms wrapping him tight and close, wet breath shaking across the back of his neck, a thick cock stroking deep inside him, deeper than his fingers could go, a place he’d only ever reached with facsimiles that made him as embarrassed as he was aroused. It was one thing to want a cock shoved in your ass, another to use something like a hairbrush handle, chasing fantasies that could only too real get him killed.

If the readhead’s name happened to be the same as his dirty secret’s, it meant nothing. Gallagher was about as far away from what Mickey could land as a soulmate as possible. He knew at least four other Ians- it was stupid common and not nearly enough to scare Mickey out of fucking with and lusting after the kid.

Linda finally stormed out of the store and Mickey flicked his cigarette away, breath heavy as he crossed the street. He wasn’t even sure what he was grabbing, just junk food that caught his fancy, no real plan. He tried to convince himself he wasn’t looking for Gallagher, wasn’t dying to make eye contact, goad the redhead into that indignant glare that he patchworked into his late-night spank bank.

He was disappointed, no redhead, but there was still satisfaction in Kash’s terrified resignation as he dumped the box of gum and made a show of not giving a shit what the man thought. He was across the street when he looked back, finally seeing Gallagher through the glass.

It was instinct that turned his feet, strutting back into the Kash and Grab and yeah- there was that fucking glare. Made him hot all along his stomach, ached in his groin.

Gallagher followed him this time, “Maybe have some civic pride!” Jesus, Mickey wanted this kid, wanted all that fire and passion pouring over his skin.

He wanted to send a message, rile him up just a bit more. Maybe then he’d throw a fist and Mickey would have the excuse to get real close, grapple at boyish muscles and pale skin. Mark up his face, leave blood and scars that spelled out his name.

Make him see Mickey, not able to fucking forget him.

“You wanna talk, you know where to find me.”

*******************************

Mickey didn’t realize how much fantasy he’d built up between them. Not until Gallagher was under him, panting. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted, and the kid could throw down. Nothing to what Mickey could do, but he could tell Gallagher would get there, would be built and tough the way anyone who lived southside eventually became.

But there was still a sweetness in his eyes, mixed in with fear as Mickey dropped the tire iron.

And suddenly Mickey was terrified too. Because fantasy was one thing, no one could get in his fucking head. But Gallagher was so fucking solid, so real- and gay.

And fuck, any day could be the one ending with Mickey’s corpse in the morgue, or more likely a ditch or the bottom of lake Michigan; but right here and now, he had an opportunity at something that played his fantasies like a sparking electric guitar.

Of course he fucking goes for it.

Dives head first, at the mercy of chemicals lubing up his endocrine system. Like a true Milkovitch, letting baser instincts take the reins and pay the piper at a hopefully much later date. He’s thrilled that Ian, dumb little shit Mickey’s always thought he was, is immediately onto what’s about to go down; tearing at clothes with a ferocity that has Mickey’s cock aching in his pants. Finally naked, he flips around on the bed to grab his lube from between the mattress and wall, turning around to find the kid’s eyes glued to his ass.

Jesus, this kid is burning for Mickey- and he’s never felt so fucking powerful, rolling to his knees and jerking gently at himself, all of that fiery intensity gravitating to his hand. _Fuck_.

When Ian drops to his knees there’s no hesitation between the thump on the ground to having all of Mickey shoved in his mouth. Mickey’s jaw clenches tight to keep the sound in, to keep him grounded enough not to get more stupid than this whole thing is.

He grabs at ridiculous orange hair, pushing fingers now soaked with lube deep inside himself, tugging at tight muscles throbbing with now, now, _now_.

It’s probably too soon, but he moves back, grinning as Ian goes spilling forward, mouth pink and panting from sucking him so good, so fucking deep. Mickey turns, scrambling further up the bed on his hands and knees, arching his back to expose everything.

It’s gratifying and sexy as hell that barely a second goes by before the other boy is pressing fully around his body, covering him with shocking warmth. Darkness envelopes them, Ian throwing a blanket over them for some twisted sense of privacy that comes with living in a house surrounded by people with no boundaries.

Fingers spear into him, breaking the weird introspection and suddenly they’re there again, and impatience stampedes through him. Mickey goes to tell him to get on with it, but realizes the fingers are only for guide when he feels hot, blunt pressure slipping against him and he shivers against the extra wetness.

Fingers slip away as Ian’s hips push brutally forward, hands clutching up around Mickey’s ribs. He grunts and squirms against the overwhelming slide inside, pushing out and against the aching pain throbbing all over his hole as he stretches and stretches, smothering the urge to tell Ian to get the fuck off him until it finally settles into something just below overwhelming.

And then they’re moving with Ian’s trembling thrusts, like the bigger boy can’t bear to be still, like he doesn’t know Mickey’s prostate is buzzing with each rocking press; that with each clench around the thick heat Mickey is pushed to the edge of blacking out, or shouting, or begging Ian to fuck him so hard he’ll feel him for the rest of his fucking life.

Ian’s definitely not a virgin, not with the decisive, quick thrusts of his hips, not with the way his large hand circles down to rub pinch and flick his nipples into stiffness and especially not with the way his mouth traces as much of Mickey’s back and neck as he can reach; not even marking, just licking and light bites that dazzle Mickey with how little is being done to shake this much of a reaction out of him.

He’s coming before he even realizes he can, that this is actually going to get him off. That this is going to be the moment that ruins the last of his assertions that just because he wanted to fuck guys, didn’t mean he had to. 

All it takes is tentative, searching fingers brushing the underside of his bouncing cock and he’s choking on grunts and the thick sweaty heat trapped around them, tasting like a name that is at once a nightmare and the most delicious fantasy. 

His upper body folds into the mattress, shuddering as Ian’s thrusts intensify and now that Mickey’s lust is spiraling out and melting the tense fear always shrouding him he can appreciate the other boy’s messy groans, the obscene slapping of their skin coming together, warm clenching hands cradling his hips in a surprisingly gentle grip.

Ian’s orgasm rips through him and Mickey can’t breathe, can only screw his eyes shut as Ian’s cock jumps again and again and fucking _again_, emptying for so long Mickey bemoans the fact they hadn’t used a condom. Fuck. Disease was honestly the last thing on his mind against the fact he was going to be leaking like a bitch in front of his shitbag father.

And like that, it all slams home.

He falls to the bed, twisting to get the gross cooling flesh quickly out of him, and makes the most tender, embarrassing sound of his life. A whimpering mess of a noise that makes the flippant bitch of a comment about prowess and overstaying your welcome die as he lets the blanket pool around him, unable to say anything as Ian collapses next to him.

It was such a nothing moment, after all the good stuff, before anything shitty happened, but Ian looks over with big, awed eyes and Mickey feels something in his heart clench in a way he knows is important. Something that isn’t going to fucking be ignored.

His hungover, probably still high, father busting into the room is it’s own kind of horrifying relief. Anger and fear taking their rightful place, pushing out the clinging tenderness that had no fucking business here with his hands fisting, his bed full of naked cum covered flesh, and a boy Mickey was prepared to fight to the death for.

But he wasn’t gonna fucking kiss him.

He was gonna fuck him and fight him and take advantage of that sweet disposition that wouldn’t tell a soul about Mickey, wouldn’t fucking dare. Because he knew Mickey. Knew the feel of his fists, the taste of his dirt encrusted skin and still looked confused and disappointed when he wouldn’t kiss him.

Micky had him- and it was incredible.


End file.
